Coping
by ChocoCookiesMe
Summary: What if Ivan had left the allies to fend for themselves? Arthur and Francis are affected the most as they try and struggle through the hardships that the war brings. If anything, Arthur Kirkland has changed. WW2 Dark AU. Characters may be OOC but it fits in with the theme.


Autumn leaves scattered around the mud pools from last night's storm. The weather was misty and cold. The moisture in the air felt damp. Overall, the weather was dismal and miserable. The crunch of boots hit the pavement. A light brown haired man dressed in army attire stopped. His green eyes scanned the road. A dash of blue made way to him. A blond haired figure ran up to him.

"Arthur...you won't believe it..." the man was breathing heavily; he clearly ran all the way here from his place.

The blue clad man thrust a letter into his open hands. Arthur's eyebrows were raised, without question he tore open the letter. It took him a few moments to digest the information before leaning against the railing.

"Damn..."

His companion flashed him a sympathetic look. "We should've known it was coming, _oui_?"

"Francis...this beyond devastation..."

"Yes, but..._C'est la vie_. Life is cruel..."

With those words, Francis produced a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket.

"Want one?" he questioned his old rival, offering a cigarette.

Silently, Arthur took it; he flicked the lighter and lit the cigarette. Smoke rose to fill the air as he exhaled.

"Why are you here?"

The question came out of the blue, Francis cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Other than to tell me about...that...What're you doing here in England?"

"Well..." Francis looked dumbfounded.

Arthur took another drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the nearby bin. The Englishman played with his medals, waiting for his companion to reply.

"I figured we better stick together now, _mon ami_."

"Why? I don't-"

He was cut off immediately. "This war isn't going to win itself, without _him_, we are nothing. Sure, Alfred is of help but he doesn't know much about the matter..."

Arthur stared at the River Thames below, "Bloody hell...and I thought it was bad enough with the Chinese..."

"China is at war with Japan."

"I know that, fool; I just don't want Ludwig Beilschmidt of Germany knowing our problems."

Francis fell silent; he stared out at the river. A breeze overcame the two; they hugged their coats closer, keeping in the warmth.

"I'll see what I can do from my end. _Adieu_, Arthur."

The Frenchman shook hands with his former enemy before walking away. Arthur stared at the retreating image of his ally, he then stalked off into a nearby pub.

* * *

Vodka.

Arthur scowled at the glass of golden liquid in front of him. His green eyes felt as though they were penetrating the glass; perceiving through the distortion.

The world meeting had been nothing but torture. It had started as a simple debate between China and Japan, tensions arose and it felt like they were in war at the conference rather than on the battlefield. Representing England, Arthur spent the meeting discussing the allied force between himself and Francis (France) to which Ludwig (Germany) merely grunted at. But as he skimmed through the many people, Russia's representative was not there.

As Arthur continued to set his eyes on the glass of vodka, he could only think of Russia. His thoughts flowed through his mind. To extinguish the memories, the man downed the glass in one go before exiting the office hastily.

_Vodka is my fuel, it's in my blood, my veins..._

The Englishman heard a voice in his head. The voice of the man who had left him. The man who had inspired him and only paid him back by betrayal. It was no wonder he was not at the meeting. But something had been gnawing at him in the meeting; Ludwig's face as Francis questioned why Russia wasn't there. Arthur racked his brains, but drew a blank. He emitted a grunt of frustration before slamming his foot down on the floor.

* * *

Rain trickled down the window panes, night time was approaching. Dusk had fallen on London at the War Office. The office door banged open and Francis appeared with a stack of files.

"How have you been?" said the man as he collapsed into one of the leather armchairs in the room.

"What do you think?" Arthur's voice came out colder than he had intended. Before he could amend his statement, the Frenchman hastily changed the subject.

"Something's going on between Italy and Egypt."

"Oh?"

"They are thinking of taking over the Suez canal. I thought we ought to send in troops. Greece is joining us, too."

"More extra hands...To Hell with it all!" muttered Arthur as he scribbled a few notes in his organiser.

Francis made his way to Arthur, standing in front of him. "Is this about Russia?"

The British ambassador froze at the mention of the country. Suddenly the memories came rushing back. Before he knew it, the events of that fateful night returned.

* * *

_"America is joining us in this war." the bitter tone of a Russian man drifted through the air._

_"Well, at least we shall have supplies and more advanced weapons..." groaned the voice belonging to Arthur._

_"Cheer up! You'll only be dealing with them in this war!" stated Francis; he took a sip from his wine glass._

_"Have you heard of the communism fight between Russia and America, Mr. Bonnefoy?" asked the Chinese representative. _

_Francis' shoulders sagged. "Ah. Sorry for bringing it up, Ivan."_

_Ivan Braginski sighed wearily. "Don't be. It's my country's problem, not yours."_

_Snow fell gently; people looked like ants below from the 25th floor of the War Office._

_"Well...I'll go telephone the American ambassador." said Yao Wang as he fixed his ponytail and left the room. Francis also followed suite._

_"I'll go take a breather." muttered Arthur as he walked to the door._

_"Wait. I'll come with you." Ivan grabbed his coat and followed him._

* * *

_Lights shone in the city, though the fright of war had sent people home and continuous air raids were scattered across the country. Ivan ran a hand through his light blonde hair and sighed. He stopped by a deserted alleyway and shoved his hands in his pockets._

_"Arthur...there's something that I need to say..." he hesitated slightly before continuing. "I'm thinking of leaving all this behind, going away to protect my nation."_

_Arthur stared at him. "But...we're at war with Germany."_

_"My duty lies with my country." he said, as though he was being made to say it; like a robot._

_"No...You have us. No matter what, we won't back down. Got it, mate?"_

_Ivan shot him a pained smile. "This is something I must settle on my own. I have to handle an enemy of mine just over the border; Finland. I'm sure you understand, Arthur."_

_"But that can wait! We've got to fight Germany!"_

_"No, some people like Tino Vainamoinen are just too persistent...You have to fight Germany, not I."_

_Arthur's usually calm demeanour shattered as he was reduced to blubbering. "B-but..."_

_"I guess this is goodbye, Arthur Kirkland. It was nice knowing you however I have to leave."_

_The Russian adjusted his scarf and cast Arthur one last look. His violet eyes bore into that of the Englishman's; it lasted for a few seconds before he tore away from the gaze and walked off. His fur and leather army boots clacked on the pavement; his beige coat blew to the side as the wind breezed through. His light hair flew in the wind; unkempt and shabby. Arthur watched helplessly as the man was about turn round the corner._

_"Ivan..._Ivan!_"_

_Arthur's green coat flapped as he made way to the Russian ambassador. As he jogged to the side, Ivan smiled one more time. But, it didn't quite reach his eyes._

_"I'm sorry, Captain..."_

_Arthur immediately jerked to a halt at the words. What...? As he glanced back, Ivan was no longer there. He leaned against the wall and began to cry bitter tears. Icy wind bit harshly into his skin as he remained there before going home for the night._

* * *

"Ivan..." Arthur was brought back to the present.

Francis poured himself a glass of Bordeaux wine and watched his colleague. His azure blue eyes studied the Briton who was tapping pen against paper. Arthur had never seemed so…weak. And Francis began to question why he sympathised with the man; his rival since childhood. Perhaps it was because Arthur was just stuck in time; there was no sign of him moving forward any time soon.

"I guess I'll see you in Geneva for the meeting..."

Francis sighed, throwing a sympathetic look at his ally and exited.

"_Pas d'importance..." _he muttered to himself.

* * *

December rolled by, icy wind swirled outside the window. Glittering snowflakes fell lightly on the crisp snow. Naked, bare trees dotted the surface below, the streets were busy in the morning rush of traffic. Many people carried gas masks at their hip. The air was thick, a snowstorm was approaching fast. People were scurrying across the roads, doing the last of early Christmas shopping. With limited rations, the population had to cut down on the presents. Destroyed buildings stood out like sore thumbs next to towers and blocks of flats. The death toll was really reaching a peak point.

A white sheet of paper was spread out on the table, the rustling of notes was made, pens tapping; the room's atmosphere felt somewhat...tense. Germany was driving into Soviet Russia, but the Russians were putting every ounce of strength in the war.

* * *

**Summer 1943**

"In this dark age, we can hope to bring ourselves to the light of tomorrow. But, tomorrow could be yet another day; thus, we shall fight our way to the end!"

The American representative seated himself at those words, his eyes remained fixated on his speech; making notes and scribbling out thoughts.

"Hmph...Surely you jest. We only put our differences aside for this battle, have you really regressed all this time? You've surrendered to this nonsense...Alfred Jones, you disgust me..."

Standing by the entrance of the conference room was a tall, looming figure with greying hair. His pale face was hit by the light and his violet eyes stared ahead. Wrapped in his beige coat, scarf and fur boots, a golden badge on his lapel, was none other than Ivan Braginski.

The man cut through the room and seated himself next to his sister, Natalia Arlovskaya (Belarus) and her irritating, unwanted admirer, Toris Laurinaitis of Lithuania. Murmurs, grunts and chattering were heard throughout the room. Arthur stared at the man who had run away from him and the rest of the Allies. Francis placed a reassuring hand on Arthur's shoulder before conversing with Finland who was seated opposite him. Next to Arthur sat Alfred who was clenching and unclenching his fists. A few moments passed before everyone ceased conversing.

"What a surprise, you missed the last meeting. Why return? Has 'Mother' Russia finally fallen or what?" Gilbert Beilschmidt of Prussia jeered.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "May I remind you who drove Germany out that cold winter a year back?"

Gilbert cast him a cold glare before returning to his talk with the Spanish ambassador. It was obvious that the attack had an impact on him. Hours passed as the meeting carried on, well into the night.

* * *

As the countries filed out, Arthur spotted Ivan and Natalia heading in the direction of the bar, though he wanted to talk to the Russian, he decided against it; at least for the time being. Yao Wang made his way to the Briton, his ponytail swishing as he walked towards him.

"I feel like I want to kill some people after this meeting."

Arthur had to smile at Wang's anger; the Chinese could make him laugh in the darkest of times. Norway's representative greeted him, the two spent the evening catching up.

* * *

The bar was crowded and stuffy; folk music was playing in the background. Arthur weaved through the tables and seated himself with Norway and Romania by his side. Both of them were good friends with him and they used to play "Wizards" as young boys.

"So…how's things?" asked Norway as he raised his glass of whisky, toasting the Englishman.

"Sadly, nothing superstitious, mate." said Arthur with a smile.

Norway smiled at the reply.

"Hey, you don't want to wind him up on the first night..." Romania gave the two of them a lopsided grin.

Cheery laughter erupted from Arthur. After weeks of pondering, denial and reopening wounds, it felt good to feel that Arthur had more friends. Friends that made him laugh, smile and grin. He truly felt light once more hit his shrivelled shell.

As Norway and Romania continued chatting amicably between themselves, England scanned the room; Sweden and Finland were talking amongst themselves, catching up together, and as Arthur watched, there was a glint in Sweden's eye. Love? It was clear that Sweden had feelings for Finland and the two of them got along well.

Austria and Hungary were in a heated battle of chess, it was evident Hungary was winning; Elizeveta Héderváry of Hungary was sharp and cunning. That was not to say that her rival, was not just as smart. A sharp cry sounded as Roderich Edelstein of Austria lost; all it took was Elizeveta to say "Checkmate!". Arthur smiled gently at the couple's interactions.

"...So I told Italy that one day I'd get to him, and I did! For a little bit though...Before his brother came and poured a scalding hot pot of pasta over my head!" Romania ran a hand through his hair. Norway chuckled before lighting a cigarette.

"Must've been pretty mad." he stated after exhaling smoke.

"Yup… But...we are now at war..."

"I suppose so…It's just as bad when you're occupied. I haven't seen my brother for months." Norway mumbled to himself, taking another drag of his cigarette.

A serious expression flitted across the normally cheery Romania's face. He glanced forlornly in the direction of where the members of the Axis were seated.

* * *

Japan was the first to leave for the night, shortly followed by Germany and Prussia. Gilbert was dawdling by Ludwig; obviously drunk. He was still mumbling on about his awesomeness. Soon, the room was almost derelict, save for a few others. Eduard von Bock of Estonia departed shortly after. Next in line were Sweden and Finland, the duo having chatted together the whole evening. Norway had left earlier that evening, saying something about hitting Denmark and whatnot. Four people remained.

Four became two as Francis and Natalia left together, but no words were exchanged between the two. Ivan had not said a word, he held a glass of vodka in his hand and was resting his other hand on the armchair. Observing the veteran Russian soldier, his appearance was more rugged than before. Ivan Braginski was not the same man as before.

"Are you going to remain silent or what?" Ivan's eyes glinted orange in the firelight.

Arthur felt so helpless once more, just like that night in London...Was it all to end the same way? Arthur just had to make sure it would not.

"No. In fact, I was about to take my leave before you spoke."

"Hmph..."

A smirk appeared on the man's face, he turned to face the Briton,

"Why don't you go then, da?"

Arthur's eyebrows were knitted together, the bile rising in his throat.

"What...?"

"Unlike you, I have pressing matters like my nation."

It was England's turn to scoff. "...Well, that's the pot calling the kettle black, huh?"

A cold hand pressed against his throat, dragging him to the wall, "Don't play games, Kirkland!"

Ivan's eyes showed no remorse, just...emptiness.

"What are you implying, you damned fool?" England's normally serious face returned.

The hand tightened like a vice. "...I came here for one sole purpose..." His voice was raspy and harsh as he spoke.

"Go on then," England closed his eyes, bracing himself. "I'm all ears. Let's hear your infernal reason."

"You,"

The fear was immediately extinguished, replaced by shock. "What the Hell...?"

The pressure placed on Arthur's neck was gone; Ivan turned his back against him.

"Never mind me," he hesitated briefly. "I should've done what you said; handle the main problems not the small ones…"

Ivan brought a hand on Arthur's shoulder. His violet eyes gazed into forest green eyes. He bit his lip.

"I hope that...you can forgive me..."

With a swish of his cloak, he departed into the night.

* * *

Lying on his back in bed, the Briton stared at the ceiling. Who was he truly? Why was Ivan here, wanting him to be near? Flickers of light appeared on the ceiling as the blinds drew in light. Tension bit into him like a poisonous snake. Millions of questions circled his mind but no answer was found. As his eyes closed, the man wondered what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Ivan Braginski lay flat on his back, the endless ticking of his clock kept him awake into the early hours of morning. His blue eyes flickered sleepily, a pounding headache sounded in his skull. Forcing himself out of sleep, the Russian got out of bed.

As he scampered into the bathroom, something glinted in the corner of his eye. His brow furrowed, reaching out, he picked up the offending item. A wave of nostalgia overcame him. Standing side by side, himself and England were laughing together - unaware of his own departure. As Ivan stared at the photo, the cogs were grinding in his mind; Arthur was probably sick of him. The Russian had been a failure, it sickened him to his stomach. He caught his face in the mirror, and frowned.

Ivan Braginski was not the same man.

The veteran officer ran a hand through his grey hair, rings were appearing under his eyes; sleeplessness was an obvious reason. His appearance was shabby, facial hair had sprouted and he had not bothered to shave. There was no longer the air of pride he felt when he made his entrance, who was he really? Was he hiding behind a mask? A mask that concealed his true emotions...it cut him deep inside to know that England was suffering because of his stupidity and fake persona. The man groaned inwardly before slumping back under the covers to doze until breakfast.

* * *

Bangs and clatters, screams and shouts and mutters all woke the Briton from his slumber. _Were Hungary and Prussia having one of their tedious arguments?_ Arthur thought as he walked to the bathroom. England shook his head, who was he to question love? A door slammed near his room, the sounds of Francis's chatter carried all the way to Arthur's window as he applied shaving cream. It was sure to be a hectic morning.

The rustling of paper from committee members was heard throughout the room.

"I propose we wait till Japan surrenders..." Yao Wang said.

Alfred F Jones of America pulled out a drink from his bag. "That would just take time. I want this war to be done and over with…Let's just bomb them."

"Are you implying we frogmarch to the Japans, light a fuse and bomb that damned nation?!"

"_Mon ami_, calm down...you've had one too many drinks last night."

"I am calm, frog." Arthur returned to his old nickname that he gave Francis when they were enemies.

Francis ignored the comment, "I agree." he said, raising a hand.

Russia snorted, "Count me in."

All eyes turned to the tall man wrapped in a scarf and coat. But before anyone could respond, members of the Axis entered. Arthur fidgeted with his pen, watching as his cup of tea grew cold; listening to the drones of members. The occasional bickering of Prussia and Hungary emerges in between arguments; crossing back and forth.

* * *

Dusk fell, and the daily routine of meeting in the bar resumed but Arthur caught sight of a letter addressed to him.

The letter was from Ivan Braginski; pleading for forgiveness. But for some reason, Arthur could not find it in his heart to feel sorry. France, England, America and China were left alone while Russia had just handled internal affairs. Whatever the reason was, Arthur Kirkland could not care less.

He crumpled up the paper before joining his friends. Ivan was history to him…_He _had more important things to deal with. The first important thing on Arthur's list was drinking whisky with Norway and Romania.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Yeah, I know this is pretty OOC but it's an AU looking at a darker side of Hetalia set in WW2. I know it's pretty inaccurate in terms of history...I don't mean to offend anybody by writing this story, I'm sorry if I did. Thanks for reading and leave a review or PM me if you want to give me feedback!**_


End file.
